


Baby, It's Cold Outside (And Neither of us Wants to Leave)

by Creatortan



Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Magic, Christmas Party, Confessions, Cuddling & Snuggling, Flirting, Fluff, Happy Ending, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Protectiveness, Romantic Tension, Secret Santa, Snowed In, Succubi & Incubi, Succubus Eric, Token Stan and Kenny show up for like 2 seconds, Underage Drinking, Werewolf Kyle, Werewolves, brief implied stenny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 17:18:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17026863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Creatortan/pseuds/Creatortan
Summary: Kyle was always hyperaware of whatever Cartman was doing—especially when they went to another one of Token's parties. Something about his inner wolf kept him vigilant, and with the full moon coming up, he's even more antsy.But either way, he didn't think he'd need to be prepared for all this.(Monster AU, a gift for theKyman Secret Santa)





	Baby, It's Cold Outside (And Neither of us Wants to Leave)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a secret santa gift for [Sidda!!](https://the-phoenix-heart.tumblr.com/) I hope u like it friend!!! :D

They don’t remember whose idea it was to carpool to Token’s Christmas party. Kyle thought he remembered someone saying something about “the old days” or something to that effect. The car buzzed with excitement. Kyle’s three passengers shared their pregame drinks from a silver flask Kyle instinctively curled away from. The flask was Stan’s idea, to make sure Kyle didn’t join in the pregaming. Kyle hated being the designated driver—especially since he was pretty sure Kenny couldn’t get drunk in the first place—but he also had to avoid alcohol so close to the full moon. He was always antsy, more irritable in the days leading up to it, and alcohol just made him less controlled. The last time he got drunk so close to the full moon, he woke up with stuffing in his mouth, because he apparently completely destroyed Jimmy’s living room couch.

“Turn up the music, Ky!” A playful voice called from the backseat. Kyle grimaced. He was never comfortable when Cartman was tipsy. He didn’t think it was safe, not with Cartman’s powers—Cartman already attracted people to him like moths to a flame, but when he was buzzed he fluttered around the room—only barely, obliviously escaping from groping hands. Kyle couldn’t actually enjoy any parties, ‘cause he was always hyperaware of Cartman, even more so than usual. He found himself trailing behind Cartman, glaring or growling in warning at anyone who wandered too close.

The downside, though, was that Cartman ended up clinging to Kyle at parties if he was drunk enough, trying to drag Kyle onto the dancefloor or into dark rooms. Kyle never went with him, of course, not when Cartman could barely remember his own name. It wasn’t right, but Cartman always got pissy when Kyle tried to tell him to lay off the drinking. He was a damn lightweight, too. Their pregame probably had him sloshed already.

Kyle glanced at the backseat through the rearview mirror. Cartman had fallen over with laughter, sprawled flush against Stan’s side. Stan laughed with him, his hand somehow on Cartman’s hip. Kyle growled low in his throat, once, though he knew it was probably just a side effect of Cartman’s powers. Kyle noticed two glowing eyes staring back at him, and when he met them, he found Kenny grinning at him knowingly.

The party was deep in the mountains, on a huge property owned by Token’s family—the massive mansion peeked over the horizon, detailed with wood for the forest aesthetic, despite the extremely modern look to the rest of it. Token called it a “cabin.” It most definitely cost more than the combined incomes of every family represented in the car. Go figure.

Kyle parked the car, and watched with slight amusement as his friends stumbled out to follow. Cartman and Stan were leaning heavily on one another, trying to synchronize their steps despite their considerable height difference and inebriation. By the third time they’d almost broken their ankles, Kenny came up to stand between them. Cartman giggled and reached up on his toes to kiss Kenny’s cheek. Stan copied Cartman and clumsily did the same.

“You mind taking one of these for me?” Kenny said to Kyle, an eyebrow raised. Kyle rolled his eyes, opening his arms.

Though he was expecting Stan to tumble into him, he instead got someone shorter, softer, and infinitely more troublesome. Kyle looked down at Cartman, who just smiled up at him. With wide eyes, Kyle looked back to Kenny, who was still holding onto Stan. Ken’s lopsided grin turned into something softer as he listened to Stan ramble—and Kyle kept his mouth shut.

They walked up to the party, hearing the music blaring from inside, the lights done up in holiday-neutral changing colors. Cartman stayed pressed almost annoying close to Kyle, to the point where Kyle was almost tempted to just pick him up and carry him the rest of the way. Almost.

Kyle rang the doorbell, and Clyde, with a drink sloshing in his hand, opened the door to meet them. Cartman batted his eyes at Clyde, a silly little grin on his face. Kyle rolled his eyes, tugging Cartman closer to him. He rubbed his hand over Cartman’s upper arm as they walked into the booming party, trying to warm him up. He wondered how the hell Cartman wasn’t freezing—he wasn’t dressed for the cold at all. He had brown ankle boots with white fluff on their tops, knit white knee-high socks, a jean miniskirt and a sleeveless maroon turtleneck. Kyle tried to get him to wear a jacket, knowing his yelling was edging into nagging, _insisting_ that he wasn't going to put up with Cartman complaining if he was cold. Kyle even offered his _own_ jacket, but Cartman still turned him down, calling him a yappy puppy before lazily waving around the silver flask to drive him back. Though, Kyle could’ve sworn he saw Cartman hesitate, his eyes lingering on the jacket clenched in Kyle’s hand.

Cartman smiled and waved and winked at every person they passed, giggling as he tugged Kyle along, wandering aimlessly. He caught sight of the drink table and tried to pull Kyle to it.

“C’mon! Let’s go get drinks!” Cartman whined. Kyle stood his ground; even if he wasn’t drunk, Cartman couldn’t move Kyle once he planted his feet.

“I can’t drink, dumbass.”

“Then why are you even _here!”_

“To keep you out of trouble.”

Cartman rolled his eyes.

“If I get sober will you let me drink s’more?” Cartman bargained. Cartman took a pinky-sized glass bottle from his pocket and swished around the shimmery liquid inside.

“Where did you even get that?” Kyle asked. Sobriety potions were a party favorite, but they were notoriously difficult for highschoolers to get their hands on.

“Wouldn’t you like to know~” Cartman sang, his eyelids heavy and his voice drenched with lascivious intent. Kyle shuddered.

“F-fine,” Kyle said, crossing his arms, ignoring how Cartman moved one hand to run down Kyle’s upper arm as he smiled up at Kyle. “Drink your potion and, I don’t know, go find Butters or something.”

“Yay!” Cartman cheered. He popped the cork off of the potion. “Bottoms up!” He threw back the foul-tasting liquid with hardly a grimace, licking his lips afterwards. “Jesus—I was more out of it than I thought. Oh well…”

He looked about ready to toss the empty bottle behind him. Kyle rolled his eyes, offering his palm for Cartman to put the bottle in instead.

“Thanks, _mom,”_ Cartman said, “Now I’m sure I’ll be illegally drinking _responsibly_ from now on.”

Then Cartman turned tail and raced to the drinks table, buddying up next to Jason White.

Kyle huffed, walking towards Token, absolutely determined to actually enjoy a party for once.

—

Kyle groaned.

The light was too bright, his mouth felt tacky, and he had no idea where he was.

He opened his eyes, blearily, mouth smacking. His head pounded. His body was sore, too, like after intense workout—which only meant one thing for Kyle. Kyle untucked his head from where it was against his elbow. He slowly stretched out his body from where he’d been curled up. He rolled over onto his back.

Kyle stared up at an unfamiliar ceiling, cursing himself and whoever it was who put a drink in his hand. Kyle sat up, slowly. He was laying on a massive bed, upside down, of course, and on top of the blankets. He scratched at his chesthair, realizing with a start that he was shirtless. Looking down, he realized, with a burning face, he was completely naked.

He also wasn’t alone. There was another figure on the bed, swaddled in the thick, expensive blankets, turned away from Kyle. Kyle’s face went ashen. He frantically looked around the room, darting off of the bed when he found his boxers underneath a brown boot. Thankfully, Kyle had specialized underwear, so he’d at least have _something_ to wear if he transformed out of nowhere. He couldn’t say the same for his shirt and jeans, though, which fucking _sucked._ He loved those jeans. Kyle put his boxers back on, wondering how the fuck he was going to explain himself, what the hell he even _did._ He obviously went full wolf-man—if he’d just went straight to “big wolf,” his shirt would’ve been stretched, maybe missing a button or two, but his shirt was _shredded._

Kyle was a pretty tall guy, not a giant but taller than most of his classmates. He was also on the lean side. His wolf-man form, though? Absolutely massive. Seven feet and three inches of pure jacked muscle and fur. Kyle looked around the room—a master bed? Rich person guestroom?—Nothing seemed wrecked, thankfully.

The figure on the bed made a sound. Kyle’s head shot around. The figure shifted, rolling over. Kyle held his breath.

“Ugh, that’s the last time I try to take shots with fucking _Craig.”_

“Oh _fuck_ no.” Kyle blurted, the second he recognized the new voice as belonging to a tired, hungover _Eric Cartman._ Cartman sat up, shocked.

“What the _fuck?”_ Cartman’s voice was strained. His eyes widened when he took in Kyle’s literally almost naked state, and Kyle self consciously crossed his arms over his chest.

“I can’t fucking believe this,” Kyle muttered, his head still throbbing. “What the hell did we do last night?” Kyle’s glare faltered as he looked between them. “We didn’t...I mean—we didn’t like…”

“Oh, _oh—_ oh my god—no!” Cartman interrupted. The blanket fell from his chest, revealing his turtleneck still….semi-intact. He was wearing it, at least, but the “neck” part of the turtleneck was torn until it fell in pieces over his shoulders, leaving his neck and collarbones exposed. Horrifyingly, he had a massive, splotchy red hickey on his shoulder and up the side of his neck.

Calling it a hickey was a kindness. If Kyle didn’t know how it got there, he would’ve called it “an accident” or “a mauling.”

But Kyle knew exactly where it came from. After years of having to clean up after his full-moon excursions, Kyle was intimately familiar with his own bite.

“Then what the hell _happened?”_ Kyle stared at the hickey, his stomach churning. “Because I don’t remember a damn thing.” Though...that might have been a lie, because Kyle has the vague recollection of _“protect friend protect mine protect,”_ which was pretty typical of his wolf’s brain.

The last thing Kyle remembered was some underclassmen trying to start a game of strip poker…? And someone kept refilling his damn drink!

“Uh...I don’t...really remember?” Cartman said, his face slowly turning pink. “I think we like...I ‘dunno...made out a little bit?”

“Oh Christ—of _course_ this shit had to happen with _you,”_ Kyle snarled, his venom covering the panicked waver in his voice. “This is why I tell you to stop getting so fucking drunk. Your fucking _powers—”_

 _“Hey!”_ Cartman interrupted. He actually stood from the bed, stomping over to point an accusing finger at Kyle. His honey-brown eyes were _furious,_ literally _glowing_ with a raging fire. “How _dare_ you try to _accuse me_ of fucking _assaulting_ you! How _dare_ you!” Cartman’s voice sounded choked. Cartman reached under his sweater, yanking out a small ruby necklace with a gold chain. “You see _this?_ I was wearing my amulet the _entire fucking time.”_

Then Cartman’s lower lip wobbled, and he stormed back to the bed, sitting facing away from Kyle, his arms and legs crossed.

Kyle just stood there in abrupt shock, his shame sinking into his gut like a block of ice. Cartman never went anywhere without his amulet, especially to parties—it counteracted his glamour. His...his _powers_ weren’t what was attracting people...attracting _Kyle._ And Kyle just...just accused him—

A loud, sad whine echoed in the room, and Kyle realized with a jolt it had come from him.

He carefully, slowly slunk up to Cartman, knowing if his tail was out it would be between his legs. His eyes were cast down as he sat next to Cartman.

“...hey, Cartman...I’m sorry.” Kyle and Cartman didn’t apologize to each other often. This time, though? The words melted off of Kyle’s tongue easy as chocolate syrup—he _meant_ it. He fucked up really badly, and there wasn’t anything he could to to defend himself for it. He didn’t _want_ to defend himself. “What I said was...really uncalled for— _shit—_ it was a dick move.”

Kyle hadn’t noticed when he’d pressed himself to Cartman’s side, hunched over so his head was resting on Cartman’s upper arm. Where Kyle failed with words, his instincts tried to save him with actions, with comfort and a quiet plea for forgiveness.

“Dumbass…” Cartman muttered, sniffling. He leaned back against Kyle, wordlessly accepting his apology. Kyle nuzzled into Cartman’s arm, relieved, pleased.

“We should probably get out of here before Token kicks us out,” Kyle said, a hum in his voice.

“Ugh,” Cartman groaned, kicking off the bed to stand, “I need my phone...and my pants.”    

It was then Kyle noticed that, yes, Cartman was indeed bottomless, save for, uh...Kyle’s throat went dry. His eyes widened. Cartman stopped his search around the room, standing stiffly.

Kyle tore his eyes away from, uh, Cartman’s...underwear.

Kyle cleared his throat. He noticed Cartman’s ears had started to turn pink before he averted his gaze to the bedsheets. He heard Cartman shuffle around the room and tried and failed to not think about the fact that Cartman was wearing fucking _panties._ The baby blue lace was so eyecatching against his pale skin and the dark sweater he wore. _Fuck._ He was wearing nothing but lacy panties, knee high socks, and a sweater _Kyle_ had torn, with _Kyle’s_ teeth marking up his neck.

Kyle shook his head, trying to control himself. He heard a weird sound from behind him, and when he looked, he saw he’d accidentally manifested his tail, and it was poking out the top of his boxers and was eagerly thumping against the comforter. He had to physically use his hands to _make it stop._ When he looked up, Cartman was fully clothed, boots and all, and was standing in front of Kyle with his phone held close to his chest.

“Uh, so Kenny took Stan home last night.”

“Oh,” Kyle said, eloquently.

“So, do you, um, have anything to wear?” Cartman said, his eyes briefly skirting over Kyle before settling awkwardly on his face. Or somewhere near the side of his face. Kyle reached up, and, yup, his ears were out. He could hear the bustle of a survey familiar—Token always summoned one after parties to scope out the mess. Other than that, if he strained, he could make out some movement at the other end of the house, too?

“My clothes are kind of wrecked, dude.”

“Um, do you want me to, to fix them?”

“Schure.” Aw, shit. Kyle’s fangs were back. The fuckers always gave him a lisp unless he formed his muzzle to give them space. But if he wanted his muzzle it would just be easier to go full wolf. And it was too much effort to try and stop the transformation on the morning of the full moon, especially this early when he hadn’t even had anything to fucking eat.

Kyle was tempted to just go full wolf-man, just so he wouldn’t have to put on clothes, but then he realized he wouldn’t be able to fit in the car if he did. So he just kept himself at his weird half-transition.

“H-here,” Cartman squeaked, holding out Kyle’s repaired clothes. His face was bright red, and he wouldn’t look at Kyle, instead turning away to type vigorously on his phone.

Kyle’s skin tingled where the fabric touched him, the residue from Cartman’s magic running over him, warm like standing by a fire, but with a touch so light it almost tickled. He noticed his jeans now had a hole for his tail. Nice.

Kyle stood from the bed, bending back to pop his spine. He could feel the pulse of his incoming transformation, ebbing closer like the tide.

“You good?” Kyle asked, leaning over Cartman, his hand coming to rest on Cartman’s shoulder. His fingertips brushed against the edge of the hickey, unintentionally scraping the beginnings of his claws over the tender skin. Cartman sucked in a sharp gasp.

“Y-yeah.” Cartman swallowed thickly. “Let’s just go.”

Kyle slipped on his shoes and grabbed his jacket—both miraculously unscathed, though Kyle tended to take them off when he started to lose grip of his forms, anyways.

Kyle opened the door to let Cartman out, and then followed him into the hallway. They began wandering back to where they hoped the front door was, somehow making it to the kitchen.

Token was there, making coffee. He jumped when he saw them.

“You guys are still here?”

“Uh, yeah, sorry about that,” Kyle began, his hand between Cartman’s shoulders, intending to push them along, “We’re just getting on our way—”   

“Oh, no—it’s fine I just, wasn’t expecting it. The familiar kicked everyone else out hours ago...what room were you in?”

“It looked like a master bedroom, I think?”

“Huge bed with red sheets and a big balcony?”

“Yeah.”

“That explains it,” Token hummed, “The familiars don’t go in there. Do you guys want to stay for breakfast?”

Kyle shook his head.

“Can’t. It’s the full moon tonight.”

“You sure? I hear the weather’s gonna be rough today.”

“Trust me, you don’t want me here today.”

“Damn, that bad? Sorry to hold you up, dude.” Token then turned to Cartman. “Do you want to stay?”

Kyle’s hand moved from between Cartman’s shoulders to around them.

“Uh, I’m fine going home now.” Cartman glanced up at Kyle. “I have shit to do when I get back.”

“Okay, then.” Token shrugged. “Stay safe out there, though. The mountains can get pretty icy.”

Kyle started leading them towards the door. “Will do, man!”

It was colder than the previous night, and Kyle heard Cartman hiss swears under his breath. Kyle’s hand rubbed over Cartman’s upper arm, in a mirror of the night before. Cartman tried to shuffle quickly over to the car, gritting his teeth at the biting wind. Kyle kept him close as they marched over the snow. He opened Cartman’s door for him before getting in the car himself.

Kyle started the car. From the passenger side, Cartman’s teeth were _literally_ chattering from the cold. He’d pulled his legs up under him, trying to warm himself up while he impatiently waited for the car’s heating to kick in. Rolling his eyes, Kyle tossed his jacket onto Cartman’s knees, then started driving.

Cartman didn’t say anything, just wrapped himself up in Kyle’s jacket with a comfortable sigh. Glancing at Cartman in his periphery, Kyle felt something pleasant stir in his chest. His tail thumped on the back of his seat a little.

They drove in silence, Cartman staring out the window, Kyle trying to navigate down the mountain—Token’s estate was fucking _huge._

Cartman reached over to try and turn on the radio, but the signal was shot.

“You have any music?” Cartman leaned forward and started to rummage through Kyle’s glove compartment without permission. The sleeves of Kyle’s jacket kept falling over his hands.

“Probably not,” Kyle replied simply. He usually listened to podcasts on his phone if the drive was long-ish, but even then he didn’t drive too far alone that often. Besides, he didn’t want to waste his battery.

“Oh my god, you have _MC Dreidel?”_ Cartman exclaimed, holding up an old CD. “You’re such a nerd.”

“Fuck off,” Kyle said, mirthful, “Like your playlists are any better.”

“Don’t diss my lists, Kahl! I’ll have you know I only carry the _classics.”_

“What, you mean like Britney Spears and Katy Perry?”

 _“Exactly._ Thank you for agreeing with me.”

Cartman never did find a CD for them to listen to—even if he _wanted_ to listen to MC Dreidel (which, why would he—the songs were literally made for 6 year olds), he couldn’t, ‘cause the disc was scratched beyond recognition.    

Cartman ended up sighing and looking back out the window, the two of them delving back into an almost companionable quiet.

Which only lasted a few minutes, of course, because Cartman had to break it with:

“Hey, Kyle?”

“Yeah?”

“I have to pee.”

“Why didn’t you go before we left the house?”

“I didn’t have to go then! Damn.”

“Can you hold it?”

“I’ve _been_ holding it! For the past fucking ten minutes!”

“Why didn’t you tell me _then?”_

_“Because I knew you would tell me to fucking hold it!”_

Kyle sighed.

“Fine.” He pulled the car over. “Make it quick, and don’t freeze your balls off.”

“No promises,” Cartman muttered darkly, dreading having to go out in the cold.

Kyle watched him wander out into the forest until he disappeared behind the trees. He checked his phone. No signal. He just put his phone back into the cupholder when he heard an ear piercing scream—Kyle’s ears darted up, alert, and he was out of the car before he even realized he was doing it.

_“KYLE!”_

That was definitely Cartman calling him—terrified. Kyle ran faster. By the time he burst through the trees and saw Cartman he’d become much taller and hairier than he was just moments before.

Cartman was backed up against a tree, trembling, his face ashen white. In front of him, mere feet away, was a massive, snarling black bear—looking half out of a horror movie, a crazed, grizzled thing mad on aggression. It paused its approach towards Cartman when it heard Kyle.

Eyes narrowing, nostrils flaring, Kyle didn’t stop to think before his instincts pushed him into action—he pounced, barreling into the bear. It stood toe to toe with Kyle, strength wise, but it was heavier than him, harder to pin, and had nothing to lose.

Kyle was pushing the bear back, holding open its jaw to keep it from tearing his throat out. Kyle roared when he felt claws tear into his torso. He heard a scream, and the sound was like a spell, summoning the strength Kyle needed to hurl the bear as far as he could, sending it ramming into a tree. The bear stood on weakened legs, battered. It looked at Kyle, once more. Kyle growled in warning, his muscles flexing, before the bear sulked off.

Kyle turned towards his friend, the one he was protecting. He knelt by friend’s side—Eric’s side—his enormous paw almost dwarfling Eric’s face as he cradled it. He leaned down, snuffling at Eric, his neck, his torso, looking for injury.

Eric’s hands came to rest against Kyle’s chest, his fingers buried in fur. Kyle made a sound like a purr, a deep, satisfied rumbling in his chest, after confirming Eric was okay.

Then, Eric took his hands back, but when he looked down at his palms, they were red with Kyle’s blood.

Kyle’s vision went black.

—

Kyle woke up slowly. His body was sore, but this time _worse._ He wondered how often he was going to wake up in pain, though, this time, it felt...different.

Kyle blinked open his eyes, once again staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. It was wood this time. He groaned, but it came out as more of a growl. Wait.

Kyle stopped focusing on the ceiling. He realized he was looking down a muzzle. Oh. Well.

Kyle sat up. He was laying on a bed too short for him, but an armchair had been pulled up at the end of the bed for his feet to prop up on. It was strange, actually—Kyle usually never slept perfectly spread out on his back, head on a pillow. Normally, and especially after a transformation, he’d find himself curled up in the center of the bed, like how he woke up just that morning.

He was in a room he’d never seen before. Everything was wood, imperfectly sturdy as though handmade for function rather than aesthetics. There was a chest of drawers, a dresser, and the bed. The blankets were a thick, warm wool. The lamp looked to be made of real deer antlers.

He sniffed the air, smelling wood, charcoal, and something absolutely mouthwatering. His stomach growled. He stood from the bed, having to duck down under the doorframe to get out. Thankfully, the ceiling was high in the rest of what Kyle was assuming to be a cabin.

He wandered out of the bedroom. Directly to his right was a small hallway with two doors, to his left was the open living room, dining room, kitchen…

Kyle’s tail brushed against the floor, sweeping the planks as it lightly wagged. Kyle realized, as he stalked towards the kitchen, that his mouth was filling with saliva, and he thickly swallowed—his most embarrassing wolf habit was definitely drooling. He’d be fucking _humiliated_ if he was caught doing it.

Kyle entered the kitchen, pleasantly surprised at the durability of the floorboards beneath him. He found Eric standing over a stovetop, a ludicrously large venison steak sizzling on a skillet in front of him. Spices were scattered on the counter next to him, and even still, Kyle smelled something else—was that bread baking in the oven?  

Kyle’s rumble built in his chest as he approached closer, unconsciously sliding up right behind Eric, one of his big paws finding a place against Eric’s hip. Eric jumped, looking to his side, face to face with Kyle’s chest, before looking up at Kyle’s face.

“What are you making?”

“What, no ‘hello?’” Eric responded, bumping Kyle with his hip. “I, uh, was getting kind of hungry so I decided to make something.”

“Steak and bread?” Kyle sniffed again, mouth watering. He leaned down, his head almost resting on Eric’s shoulder.

“Uh, yeah, I...um...I had some time while you were out,” Eric mumbled, turning off the stovetop. He moved the steak onto a plate, and Kyle watched hungrily as the meat slid off of the skillet with a juicy smack.

“How long was I out, then?” Kyle asked, following closely behind Eric as he put the steak onto the table, his tail out of control at this point, his eyes still stuck to the delicious steak on the plate.

He sat down, practically vibrating.

“Two hours, I think.” Eric went over to the oven and checked on the bread, finding it ready to take out. “You don’t have to wait for me; I already ate.”

The permission was exactly what Kyle needed, and he tore through the steak with ravenous delight, groaning at the _perfect_ taste, his lips smacking as he ate. He didn’t notice that Eric had sat opposite of him, watching with a shy sort of look, until he’d picked up his plate and was licking it. He stopped mid-lick when he noticed the eyes on him.

“So, uh, I guess you like it?” Eric asked.

Kyle slowly put the plate down, a sheepish grin on his face. He cleared his throat.

“Yeah, it was really good.” Kyle glanced at the bread, and before he could stop himself he was blurting: “Can I have some bread now?” Eric was beaming at him.

“Yeah, let me just get a knife…” Eric got up, and it was only then that Kyle noticed he was wearing a frilly white apron over his clothes. Kyle bit his lip before he said something dumb, like how insanely cute Eric looked fluttering around the kitchen in his apron, cooking for Kyle. It made something warm and inviting bloom in Kyle’s chest, his wolf instincts purring.

Eric cut the bread and Kyle ate it just as quickly as he devoured the steak. He was happy and sated and his wolf was almost pleased enough to override his logic—

“Wait—wait, hold on. Where are we?” Kyle shook his head, licking crumbs from his claws, looking around.

“I don’t know,” Cartman replied, “After the...uh, the thing with the bear, you passed out. I found this cabin like thirty feet away from where we were. I think it’s some kind of hunting cabin? It’s well stocked and has running water and electricity and shit, so I’m guessing it’s another rich person thing.”

“Oh, alright.” He glanced around again. “I guess if they’re rich they won’t mind that we crashed here for a bit.”

“Yeah, uh, about that…” Eric looked away. “We’re probably going to, um...need to crash a little longer.”

“Wait— _what?”_ Kyle stood, knocking over his chair in the process. He sped over to the nearest window, throwing back the curtains. The snow was falling so thick Kyle couldn’t see the trees beyond. Token’s words echoed in Kyle’s head. Hindsight was a bitch. _“Fuck.”_

“Can’t you, I don’t fucking know—do something with your powers?” Kyle tried, turning to Eric.

“I have _magic,_ not _miracles,”_ Eric said, snappy, “Besides I’m, uh, all out.”

“You’re what?”

“I’m don’t have any energy left.”

 _“How?_ Can’t you just…” Kyle floundered, “Make more?”

“Oh my _god;_ I can’t just—” Eric rolled his eyes, “I _can’t_ just ‘make more,’” Eric made quotations with his fingers, “I’m not a witch or some shit. I can’t make my own energy, and I can’t just pull it from any source I want. I get my energy from _one_ very _specific_ place. I’m a _fucking_ succubus, genius.” Eric looked away. “Besides, I used up the last of my supply taking care of _your_ dumb ass.”

“I save your life and _that’s_ how you thank me?” Kyle raised an eyebrow, his arms crossed.

“Call it even! I saved yours and you didn’t say shit to me! Do you _really_ think I carried you by myself back here? You’re fucking _massive!”_

“So...we’re really just stuck here?”

Eric’s anger melted off of his face, replaced by a sad acceptance. He took the apron off, picking up Kyle’s chair so he could lay the apron over it.

“Yeah...I mean, it can’t be _that_ bad, right? They have to have something to do around here…”

Kyle glanced at the bookshelf in the living room.

“You could read.”

Eric’s face scrunched into a grimace.

“That’s too much wooorrk….” he whined. Kyle rolled his eyes at him.

“Too bad.” Kyle started walking to the living room. “I’m going to see what selection they have.”

Eric made an indignant noise as he stomped out behind Kyle. He collapsed onto the couch, kicking his legs up onto it and laying back on the armrest while Kyle approached the bookshelf.

Kyle thought the book selection looked like the old scraps from a used bookstore—beaten up, older copies of paperbacks with no rhyme or reason to them. He picked up what he thought was a silly little title, finding it to be a western-mystery. It looked fine enough.

He sat down on the couch, almost uncomfortable—since he was so tall in his wolf-man form, his knees were practically to his chest. But changing back would’ve been way too difficult.

Instead he stretched out, pushing the coffee table with his heels until he could comfortably rest his feet on it. Then, in a stroke of inspiration: he started to read aloud.

“Dear Mr. Holmes, this is my third crack at writing this letter, and by God I’m going to get through it this time come Hell or high water…”

—

Half an hour later, Kyle realized Eric had fallen asleep, right on the couch. Overcome by an instinct he didn’t know he even had, Kyle gently shifted, laying on the couch behind Eric, shuffling Eric up until he was cradled against Kyle’s chest. And Kyle slept with him.

—

When Eric woke up, he was warm, warm all around, swaddled in something soft, laying on something comfortable. He almost didn’t want to get up. Then he felt something ruffling his hair—like a hot breathing, and the thought made him grimace. But when he tried to move, he found the thing wrapped around him was holding him tight. Eric blinked his eyes open, and realized he was looking down at a broad chest of muscle and fur.

Eric’s cheek was smushed against Kyle’s chest. He wriggled around, trying to get up, knowing his face was bright red. Kyle moved from under him, making a questioning noise. Eric looked up. Kyle was looking down right at him. His hands started to move over Eric’s back, almost like he was trying to comfort Eric.

Kyle snuffled his muzzle against Eric’s face, purring deep in his chest. Eric could feel the rumble from where he was laying.

“K-Kyle?” Eric asked. Kyle didn’t respond. Instead, he just pushed his face deeper into Eric’s neck, forcing Eric’s head to tilt back. That’s when Eric noticed, through the curtains Kyle left open, the moonlight spilling into the room. Oh. _Oh._ Kyle wasn’t home right now, it was the wolf’s turn to party.

Eric felt the warm, tingling feeling of his powers. He shivered, gasping as Kyle’s teeth grazed the side of his neck, right against the hickey from the night before. Kyle rumbled, pleased.

It was a little known fact about Eric, but he was able to tell when someone was thinking...well...sexually charged things about him. The stronger the desire, the harder Eric felt the buzz, dancing over his skin. Usually, especially with the stronger, more vivid thoughts, Eric could tell _what_ was being thought of. That morning he knew Kyle was thinking about his ass in his underwear. At the party he could tell when Bill Allen kept wanting to drag him into a closet and get him on his knees—he almost let him too, but Kyle kept hovering. And then he and Kyle...well, they both had a little too much to drink…

But that was beside the point. The real point was that wolfman-Kyle was currently nibbling on Eric’s collarbone, and the buzz of his attraction turned all of Eric’s thoughts into saltwater taffy. This wasn’t like Kyle’s thoughts from that morning, or any other time he caught Kyle thinking about him—this was... _god,_ this was _primal._ There were no words, just _feeling,_ a deep, all encompassing _desire,_ to claim, to _protect._ Eric’s inner demon kept pushing him to give in, to trill a little purr in response and give his full go-ahead, to let himself be _taken._

But, shit, he couldn’t do that to Kyle. So he didn’t respond, didn’t give a go-ahead. Instead he let Kyle nibble and nuzzle against his neck, against the mark he put there, until he was satisfied, pleased to have Eric in his arms. Eric didn’t know what any of it meant—the affection, the protecting, the _marking—_ and by god was he terrified to think about it. He’d accepted what he felt about Kyle years ago, but Kyle being attracted to him didn’t mean Eric’s feelings were reciprocated.

He buried his hands in fur, and tucked his face in Kyle’s chest again, letting himself sleep through the storm, safe in Kyle’s arms.

_—_

Kyle woke up just as the sun was beginning to rise over the horizon. The first thing he thought of: _My mouth tastes like ass._ The second: _Holy shit I didn’t brush my teeth yesterday._ The third: _I’m really warm and comfortable what’s this weight on me—_ The fourth: _Holy shit that’s Cartman laying on my chest._

Thoughts five, six, and seven came in quick succession: _He looks really cute when he’s asleep, Holy fuck I’m_ naked, _I_ really _have to pee._

With stiff limbs, Kyle tried to peel Cartman from off of him. It sucked, a lot, because Cartman was heavy, and Kyle was still _so_ sore from transforming back in the night. It wasn’t as bad since he didn’t have to transition forcefully, but it was still painful.

With all of Kyle’s shifting, Cartman started to wake up, sleepily blinking up at Kyle. Panicked, Kyle quietly hushed Cartman, trying to get him to go back to sleep. Cartman blearily obeyed, nodding slowly before nuzzling into Kyle’s chest. Kyle hoped his thumping heartbeat wouldn’t wake him up again. Eventually, with careful maneuvering, Kyle was able to roll out from under Cartman, falling on his ass directly onto the wooden floor. Cartman shifted deeper into the warm spot Kyle left behind, his cheek squishing into the cushions. Kyle realized he was staring.

He..uh...right, yeah, the, the naked thing. Kyle got up, swiftly moving to the bedroom he was in before. He shut the door behind him, grateful for the quick-fix barrier between himself and Cartman. Or, more accurately, himself and his own damn feelings. Kyle wanted to do nothing in terms of “confronting” or “thinking” about the way his instincts seemed to crave being near Cartman, or how Kyle himself was more recently giving into those desires, spending more time with Cartman one-on-one.

Cartman was...attractive. _Of course_ he was; he was literally a succubus. But Kyle couldn’t blame his personal attraction on Cartman’s powers anymore, not when Cartman specifically and obviously revealed he hadn’t been using a glamour on anyone, much less on Kyle. Accepting that Kyle thought Eric Cartman was hot was the easy part, in all honesty. No one would blame him for it—Cartman had a pretty face, with a sly cheshire grin on his pink lips and the biggest honey doe eyes Kyle had ever seen. And his body was certainly nice to look at. ( _Nice to hold, too,_ Kyle’s brain unhelpfully added.)  

No, the hard part was accepting...everything else. Kyle found it hard to cope with the constant urge to be close to Eric, with the way his heart played hopscotch when Eric grinned up at him, when he took Kyle’s side, when his face scrunched up during the gross parts in movies. With the way his wolf screamed at him whenever someone tried to take a step too close to Eric, when all he wanted to do was scoop him up and shelter him from the world.

Kyle stopped his search through the chest of drawers. He hung his head in his hands. His face flushing down to his neck. He was so _fucked._

Maybe a shower would help him clear his mind.

Whoever owned this cabin seemed to be really, _really_ obsessed with Irish Spring. Kyle took one step into the bathroom and immediately felt a headache coming on. There were two types of Irish Spring bodywash, three bars of soap, a three-in-one shampoo, lotion, deodorant—even _toothpaste,_ which Kyle didn’t even know Irish Spring _made._

Speaking of toothpaste, Kyle was immensely grateful to find a pack of mini disposable travel toothbrushes under the sink. Kyle brushed his teeth before doing anything else, scrubbing off the gross, morning-breath film that stuck in his mouth. He tossed the disposable brush peered at his own reflection—fully human once again. Kyle tilted his head up, running his fingers over his jaw. He needed to shave, too—his facial hair grew like a damn weed, and if he didn’t get it under control he’d probably have a full beard by the end of the day.

Kyle hopped into the shower, and the warm spray was heaven on his sore muscles. If he could have his way, he’d spend the entire post-full-moon morning soaking in a hot tub. Kyle didn’t linger for long, though, and hopped out of the shower quickly. He put on his borrowed clothes—a warm flannel button-up and oversized but comfortable gray sweatpants. Underwear-wise, Kyle wasn’t sure which was worse: wearing a stranger’s boxers or going commando in a stranger’s pants. In the end, Kyle went with the latter option, hoping the sweats were big enough.

When he wandered back out into the living room, Cartman was gone, and again Kyle was met with a delicious smell from the kitchen.

The table was set with two places—on each plate there was a piece of toast, from the bread Cartman made the night before, slathered with marmalade; turkey sausages, thickly sliced—three on one plate, two on the other; fried eggs, well done on one plate, a little runny on the other; and two mugs, one with coffee, the other with tea. Kyle sat at the seat with the three sausages, well-done eggs, and coffee. His heart stuttered when he picked up his fork—he almost didn’t notice Cartman at the other end of the kitchen, looking out the window, a wooden spoon in one hand, the apron back over his chest.

“Uh, morning,” Kyle said, awkwardly, “There’s spare toothbrushes in the bathroom if you need one.”

“Oh—” Cartman seemed flustered for a moment, before gathering himself back up and saying: “Thank _god,_ for that. My mouth tastes like ass.”

And then he was hurrying out of the kitchen to the bathroom. Kyle tried not to watch him go. He cut the sausage with his fork, stuffing the bite into his mouth with a pleased groan. The meat was warm and perfectly cooked—not too dry, but not too wet, and flavorful as all hell. He tried to pace himself, but Kyle ended up scarfing down the sausages embarrassingly quickly. He moved on to the eggs, and found himself pleasantly surprised when they were spiced—Kyle always took the lazy route and ate them plain. The toast was great, too, and Kyle spent far too much time trying to lick the marmalade off of his fingers.

He leaned back, taking the mug in his hands and sipping the coffee. He really should’ve stopped being surprised, but his traitorous heart still filled with warmth when he tasted his usual morning coffee—no cream, some sugar. He sipped contentedly.

He was maybe a quarter into his coffee when Cartman came back. He hadn’t showered, but hair hair was neater, and he’d somehow gotten his hands on eyeliner? And the apron was nowhere to be found, Kyle noted with slight disappointment.

Cartman sat himself opposite of Kyle.

“So, I checked outside, and the storm seems to have stopped.”

“That’s good,” Kyle replied, “Do you think we can leave anytime soon?”

“Probably.” Cartman hummed, lazily waving around his fork. “The mountain keepers are shoveling the snow away as we speak. I didn’t see one when I looked outside, but they usually work pretty fast anyway.”

They lapsed into silence. The only sounds being the clink of Cartman’s fork as he ate while Kyle continued to enjoy his coffee.

Kyle didn’t mean to stare, honest. And he wasn’t sure what expression he was making to garner the flustered blush Cartman had when his eyes met Kyle’s.

“Is there something on my face?” Cartman muttered, his eyes firmly on his plate. Kyle couldn’t hold back his grin.

“Yeah, actually—” Kyle reached over the small table, fitting his fingers under Cartman’s chin, tilting his head up, and wiping the little smear of marmalade off of the side of his lip with his thumb. Cartman’s lips parted, slightly, slack in his surprise as he stared wide-eyed at Kyle, who leaned back into his own seat, and casually licked the marmalade from his thumb. Kyle’s eyes danced with amused mirth.

Cartman’s head darted back down, and he chewed the last of his toast with pink ears. He made to stand, but Kyle beat him to it—circling the table to take Cartman’s dishes for him. He threw them into the dishwasher and turned it on. Cartman stood by the table, and stuck his tongue out when Kyle looked back at him.

“Do you have your phone, by any chance?” Kyle asked.

“Left it in the car,” So they both did, then. Kyle clicked his tongue.

He checked out the open window again, trying to see if he could make out a road.

“Do you remember which way the car was?” Their footprints were covered, and Kyle was unconscious when Cartman found the cabin—so he was basically their only option for getting back.

“Yeah, I kind of, uh, broke down a few trees trying to get you here.” Cartman stood by Kyle and pointed. Sure enough, there was a clear path of felled trees to the left.

“Do you want to go out now, or wait for a bit?” Kyle kind of...didn’t want to leave just yet. Besides, he still needed to find replacement shoes before he trekked out into the deep snow.

Cartman glanced at Kyle from the corner of his eye.

“I’m...I’m okay with waiting if you are.”

“It would probably be easier that way, in all honesty.” Kyle began walking towards the living room. “Do you want to finish that book we started?” Cartman snapped out of whatever daze he was in, nodding vigorously.

Kyle had just grabbed the book from the coffee table when they both jumped—something large and heavy just crashed from outside, somewhat far from them, but most _definitely_ important, seeing as the lights immediately shut off at the sound.  

“I would bet your entire college savings on that being a mountain keeper hitting the powerlines or some shit,” Cartman said, his eyes glowing in the dim corner of the couch where he sat, farther away from the windows.

“Okay, first of all—why _my_ college savings, you brat,” Kyle rolled his eyes, no heat in his voice, “And second: do you think the heating is okay?”

“Oh, well shit.” Cartman hissed through his teeth. “I think I saw a thermostat by the front door. Let me go check.” Cartman got up. Thankfully, it was bright enough outside that they could still see just fine, but they couldn’t do much about the cold if that was the case.

“It’s shot!” Cartman called. Apparently that was the case.

“Do you want to just leave now?” Kyle asked as Cartman came shuffling back.

“I...I don’t think we can.” Cartman frowned. He held out his hand, a luminescent glow hovering above his palm—a message charm. “I found this by the front door.”

Cartman activated the message, and an automated voice spoke:

_Dear Residents: For your well-being, the Mountain Management and Protection Agency has temporarily blocked exit from your dwelling. The environment is currently unsafe, and our workers are diligently laboring to address a multitude of issues. If you believe this temporary blockade is a mistake, or if you would like to read the full report of progress, please access the counterspell located on the back of this message. Thank you._

There was an estimated time of release under the message, but the numbers changed too quickly to really be of any use.

“Shit...I guess we really are stuck here.” Kyle clicked his tongue. The spell was a surefire way to get them contact with the outside world—but, then they’d be revealed to be fucking trespassing on private property. The last thing Kyle needed his parents to find when they brought Ike back home from his hockey tournament was Kyle in jail.

“You want to just...do what we were planning on doing anyways?” Cartman said, his voice rising at the end.

“I mean, it’s not like we can really do anything else.” Kyle shrugged, taking his seat on the couch. He waited until Cartman was comfortable before cracking the book open to read.

Though, quickly they realized the biggest issue of the situation. Quickly, the air started to grow colder. Kyle had gotten through maybe two chapters before Cartman was tucking his feet under himself. Another half a chapter and his teeth were chattering from beside Kyle. Even Kyle was feeling the chill.

“Christ—let’s...let’s just get the blanket from the bedroom.” Kyle stood up, the floor absolutely freezing under the soles of his feet. Cartman followed him, sticking close behind, trying to warm his hands with his breath.

The bedroom was even better lit than the living room, and the bed looked _so_ inviting, made specifically to trap in the heat on those cold winter nights. Kyle and Cartman looked at each other. The decision was made silently, and they both dove under the blankets.

“Holy shit, is this thing charmed?” Cartman held the thick top cover between his hands, snuggling down into the pillow, careful to stay on his back so he didn’t mess up his eyeliner. “There’s no way this isn’t magic somehow.” He shuffled to unbutton his skirt, getting more comfortable, but still unwilling to shed the extra layer.

“I don’t know, and I don’t care, as long as it stays like this,” Kyle said, wiggling the feeling back into his toes. He opened up the book again when Cartman started batting at his arm impatiently.

Throughout the book...it seemed Kyle and Cartman had started gravitating towards each other, the space between them on the massive bed slowly shrinking…

If Kyle noticed Cartman’s legs curling against his own, he didn’t mention it.

“...Keep an eye out for the next correspondence from me, Mr. Smythe. The postmark will read ‘San Marcos, Texas.’ But whether the letter will be mailed from Purgatory, Heaven or Hell, I can’t yet say. Your humble junior partner in publishing, O.A. Amingmeyer; Lovelock, Nevada (though only God knows where I’ll end up sending this from); September twenty-fourth, eighteen-ninety-three.”

Kyle shut the book. Eric had completely latched onto Kyle’s side, and, frankly, neither of them wanted to get up. The message charm hadn’t made a sound, so they were both sure they were still locked in.

“So...how did you like the book?” Kyle asked. Cartman tightened his hold around Kyle’s arm, looking down between them instead of at Kyle’s face. His bangs covered his expression.

“I liked it but…” Cartman made a strangled noise. “Kyle, can we just...can we just cut the shit?” He looked up at Kyle, brows furrowed, distressed and confused and practically pleading.

Kyle opened his mouth to say something, but Cartman plowed on—

“I’m going fucking _crazy_ over here. I’ve never learned how to pick up on signals like this and even if I did—you... _god_ Kyle, you’re all over the place. I don’t know what to think! One day you’re treating me totally normal and the next you’re...you’re letting me _cuddle_ with you!” Cartman pushed away from Kyle, sitting up. “Shit, I know it would suck if you were just playing with me—but even that would be better than _nothing._ Just... _please_ tell me it’s not all in my head.”

Kyle’s words froze in his throat, his voice coming out as choked fragments of sound. He didn’t...he...he always kind of knew about Eric’s feelings for him. It was always the elephant in the room—but Kyle just kind of ignored it, focused on his own, hoped he wouldn’t have to confront it, but—

The message drone blasted its trilling alarm, letting them know they could be released. Kyle looked towards the door, then back to Eric, almost panicked. Eric seemed to take this as...something bad, because he leapt from the bed and ran out of the room, leaving Kyle in the dust, still gaping.

 _“Shit—”_ Kyle threw the blankets to the side and ran out. Eric was stepping into his boots.

“Just forget what I said—forget everything,” Eric said quickly, his voice thick. “Let’s just get out of here.”

Kyle didn’t know how many times he could fuck up in one damn weekend.  

Eric still hadn’t looked at Kyle. He was tying his boots with shaking hands, messing up and having to redo them, his movements more clumsy with every try. His shoulders trembled. He gave up. Standing with untied laces, back to Kyle.

Kyle still couldn’t speak, his brain dumb with everything he wanted to say, everything he never thought he could.

But his instincts kicked in to save him again, to speak for him—and Kyle turned Eric around by the shoulder and wrapped him up in his arms. Eric’s chin was forced up onto Kyle’s shoulder, and Kyle buried his face in Eric’s, holding him as tight as he dared. Kyle felt moisture drip down onto his neck. Kyle swallowed thickly.

“Fuck...Eric, it’s...it’s not in your head.”

There was so much more Kyle wanted to say, that he _should_ say—but now? This? This was enough.

Eric pulled back, his golden eyes glittering with tears.

“Are you serious?” he whispered.

Kyle let his instincts do the talking again, and started to lean in, his intentions completely clear. His hands cupped Eric’s face, and one of Eric’s hands covered Kyle’s, his other gripping into the hem of Kyle’s shirt.

When their lips touch Kyle meant for it to be a chaste, sweet thing.

But of course, neither of them could control themselves. Eric made the sweetest little noise as Kyle’s lips moved against his, and Kyle went fucking off the wall, immediately groaning, and pressing his lips harder, rougher, wetter—

Before he knew it, Kyle’s hands were squeezing Eric’s ass, and Eric’s were tangled in his hair, tugging in a way that had Kyle _growling._ When they pulled away, chests heaving, faces flushed, one of Eric’s legs was up and around Kyle’s hip.

“So...you want to go do something later?” Kyle asked, his lips tingling. Eric looked fucking _delighted_ at the offer.

—

The second they stepped into the car, after Kyle put on some muddy rainboots he found, Eric grabbed Kyle’s hand and interlaced their fingers. Kyle made a sly comment about it, but made no move to take his hand back.

The whole ride home, they talked about first date plans (which made them both break out into a fit of giddy giggles), how they were gonna tell their friends, and the damage control over the fact that they went missing for the day. Eric was unnecessarily eager at the prospect of having people worry over them, wondering if there was mass hysteria about their disappearance, if their phones had been blown the fuck up by a dozen and one worried texts and calls. Kyle called him a drama queen, but secretly he was also curious as to what their friends had done.

They shouldn’t have worried, though—because nobody _fucking_ noticed they were gone.

“Are you kidding me?” Eric shouted, stomping his foot. They’d plugged in their phones and were shocked—or in Eric’s words, _fucking appalled_ —at the lack of any worry. Eric immediately called up Kenny, who answered on the _sixth_ ring, and got an earful of Eric yelling.

Kyle didn’t want to overreact, but he was kind of miffed too. He and Eric had a damn _journey._

The four of them met up at Kyle’s. Kenny’s beaten up truck pulled up, and Stan stepped out of the passenger side with apology lunch. Eric snatched the bags greedily, pouting at their friends.

“We literally got attacked by a _bear!”_ Eric said, stomping his foot. “What the hell were you two doing that was _so_ important you didn’t notice we were gone?”

Kenny and Stan looked at each other, then shrugged.

“Can we talk about this later,” Kyle interrupted, “I’m starving.” Kyle leaned over Eric, looking into the bag to snatch a fry.

The four of them ended up watching movies on Kyle’s couch, and Kyle was almost surprised to find that he didn’t feel apprehension or anything—he didn’t think their friendship would suffer when he and Eric decided to make themselves ‘official.’ Though, he did notice the looks Stan and Kenny were giving them, especially at the healing hickey on Eric’s neck—but they didn’t mention it otherwise.

Really, as Kyle looked down at Kenny shoving straws in his mouth like a walrus, Stan laughing so hard soda sprayed out of his nose, and Eric, who tucked his feet under Kyle’s legs on the couch—Kyle thought they’d all be just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> the book they're reading is Holmes on the Range by Steve Hockensmith, cause I just grabbed a random smallish looking book I had lol


End file.
